Lord of the Horror: Mary Sue Exposition
by Wen Quendalie
Summary: Mary Sues are a plague. What will the characters do when faced with an unimaginable horror? My apologies to those who like them.
1. Aragorn's Mission

Disclaimer: I certainly don't own Lord of the Rings. I apologize to all the Mary Sue writers, but let's face it, it's an overdone genre, and a tragedy to Tolkien, whom I am sure is rolling in his grave. I do hope that everybody else enjoys this, and gets a few laughs.  
  
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Aragorn pressed his ear to the ground, straining to hear the faint footsteps of the creatures he pursued. Long had he been in the forest, stealthily trailing behind the small creatures. A chilly mist surrounded him, creating a curtain to obscure his vision and wipe away the footprints in the dirt. Gandalf had been most specific in his orders, that he was to keep a sharp eye on the Shire and to watch for the hobbits making haste towards Bree. Alas that he had fallen behind, and would now have to quicken his pace to watch for them.  
  
The air grew harsher, and Aragorn began to run forward. His wet hair plastered to his face, his eyes were no less keen. For many years he had done this, though never before had he been assigned such a desperate mission. The days were growing foul and dark, a glimmer of the past joy and carefree times that were fading away with the threat of Mordor. Too long had the whole of Middle Earth been kept in senseless abandon, foolishly believing their safety was ensured from Sauron, the Dark Lord. No, the world was becoming more dangerous with each breath, and few knew of the encroaching danger.  
  
He paused, listening to the faint echo of leaves crunching. After watching the Shire passively for the past few years, his senses were no less sharp. No one had followed him to this point. No one knew his mission. Perhaps the sound was merely a passing deer.  
  
'It is not the season for deer,' he thought. 'Few creatures venture out in this part of the forest.'  
  
His hand slid towards the longsword at his side, muscles tensing in preparation as the leaves continued to move softly. The mist grew thicker around him as he stepped forward silently, awaiting the presence he felt moving. Slowing his breathing, he gripped the sword tightly, drawing it from its sheath.  
  
A soft breath alerted him to the presence ahead of him. Crouching into a defensive stance, he squinted his eyes, peering ahead.  
  
"Halt!"  
  
Aragorn froze, still staring ahead towards the unseen body. The voice was warm, a female voice, something he had not expected to hear out in the middle of nowhere. Frowning, he watched as a figure approached. She was tall, wrapped in a dark green cloak similar to his own, hood drawn up around a porcelain face half shadowed. She gripped a sword that was nearly half her size, the blade gleaming dully in the mists. Sharp blue eyes stared at him, a small smile gracing the full lips of the woman.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Why does a woman wander so aimlessly in the wild?"  
  
The laugh that emanated from her lips was like the crystal bells of the Elves, musical and magical in the same breath. "You ask who I am, sir, when it is you who have encroached upon my territory!" She lowered her sword, and removed her hood. Aragorn found himself staring into a beautiful face that rivaled that of his beloved Arwen, daughter of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. This woman was breathtaking, beauty surrounded in nature. Her dark clothes did nothing to hide the ample curves of her body, from the tight stretch of her tunic across her chest, to the gray leggings that ended in knee-high boots, dirtied from much trekking. He gasped in spite of himself.  
  
"Forgive me, my lady, but I have never seen a woman in such a state," he said, lowering his own sword.  
  
Tilting her head, allowing her touselled locks the color of fire to drift across her shoulders, the woman smiled again. "Well, it is little wonder, sir. I come from a little known place along the borders of Eriador," she answered. "I am called Talaria Silvermoon. Now tell me your name, handsome stranger."  
  
Aragorn straightened himself, bowing low. "I am called Aragorn, my lady."  
  
The woman's eyes brightened, her smile spreading across her face. "Aragorn," she repeated softly. "I have heard of you, ranger. Your travels are well known to me. Of course, I am certain that you are no match for me."  
  
Blinking rapidly, he frowned slightly. "Do you mean to tell me that you yourself are a ranger?" he asked politely, though the disbelief crept up his spine.  
  
Talaria nodded. "What else would I be doing out here? I have been trained by the most skilled of all rangers, and now I am on a mission of great importance. I have been sent to track four hobbits and escort them to Rivendell."  
  
Aragorn stopped, his face a mixture of disbelief and amusement. Choking back a laugh and a smile, it took him several tries before he could say, "Four--four hobbits. And why are you on such a mission, my lady?"  
  
She blinked, twirling a strand of hair between her slender fingers. "Because they carry something of great importance. I don't know what it is, but I was told that I must save them at all costs. Of course, if you do not get out of my way, Aragorn, I will be forced to prove to you that I am the better ranger."  
  
'This is too much!' he thought. Inwardly, he was laughing so hard he thought his sides would split.  
  
"My lady, I have no wish to fight you," he said. "I am merely amazed that you are on such a common mission."  
  
Talaria's eyes brightened. "Now why say you that, Aragorn? You speak as if you are on the same mission!" For a moment she stared at him, before she gasped aloud. "Oh! You ARE on the same mission, are you not?" She moved forward, swaying her hips to and fro until she stood so close she was within grasping distance of the ranger. Her eyes moved slowly up his chest until she met his eyes, a sudden hunger overpowering her face.  
  
Aragorn frowned. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly, cautiously taking a step backward.  
  
She reached out and placed a hand upon the man's chest, inching her way closer to him. "Aragorn," she said softly. "I believe that we may be of assistance to each other. I suggest that we aid one another on this mission that we share. It will be most rewarding, I assure you."  
  
A small tremble caught Aragorn's cheek as he gently pushed the woman away from him. "Talaria," he said, "I do not believe that we share any kind of mission. I believe that you are mistaken. I have no want nor desire to share my mission, for it was entrusted to me alone. I beg your pardon, Lady Talaria, but I cannot accept your offer."  
  
Talaria's gentle features began to contort, her face twisting as he blue eyes began to water, her lower lip curling into the most beautiful pout he had ever seen. For a moment, he felt himself being drawn into the depths of her eyes, especially as she once again raised her hands to his chest, this time pushing her body against his until she was sure he felt the swell of her bosom against his well-defined chest. Tears blossomed, spilling down her cheeks as she tilted her head towards his. "But--but I must accompany you, Aragorn," she whimpered. "For I am alone in the forest and my mission is of the greatest importance. I must take care of the hobbits. And surely you could use a female companion! I can tell that you have not been in the company of a woman in quite some time. I assure you, Aragorn, you will not regret it."  
  
Aragorn felt a strong desire within his chest to grab the woman and press his lips to hers, to hold her close in his arms and succumb to the wiles of this stranger. The quiver of her breasts against his chest caused his own manly desires to flame up.  
  
Suddenly an image of the four hobbits he had to meet flashed into his mind, as well as the devastating consequences that would occur if the servants of the Dark Lord found them. His duty was clear cut, and he could not falter, not even to a woman in tears.  
  
The twitch in his face returned as he moved back, firmly pushing Talaria away. Gasping for breath, he said, "I am sorry, Lady Talaria, but I must move on quickly. Light is fading, and I must follow the hobbits."  
  
She blinked several times, as if unclear as to what he was telling her. Talaria shook herself out, causing her hair to shimmer in the mist, flowing free and wavy in the air, until it settled down her back, full and luxurious. The tears had been replaced with a stern lust that emanated from every fiber of her body. As Aragorn began to move away, Talaria moved in front of him, dropping her cloak upon the ground.  
  
"All right, Aragorn. If that is what you must do, then I cannot stop you," she said sadly. "I suppose I will go on my way then."  
  
Turning around, she leaned over to pick up her cloak, giving Aragorn a close view of her backside. Aragorn nearly choked, caught between running as far away as possible and pinning the woman to the forest floor. Talaria knew that he was frozen in place. As she stood back up, she stepped forward, and conveniently turned her ankle at precisely the right moment, causing her to fall forward with a cry.  
  
"Oh!" She lay on the ground, clasping her ankle protectively. "I have injured my ankle. But do not mind me, Aragorn, I will be fine. Please, continue with your mission. I am certain that some other kind stranger will find me out here. . .alone. . .helpless."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Aragorn sighed heavily. Sadly, the noble part of him realized that he could not leave a woman alone in the forest, especially one who was injured. Although her advances were quite disturbing, even tempting, he could not abandon her.  
  
Stepping forward slowly, he crouched down beside her, looking at her ankle. "Let me inspect your injury," he said. As he gently touched the woman, she blinked wildly at him, eyes as large as dishes, portraying such innocence as can only be found in Disney creatures. Aragorn caught her eye, once again becoming enraptured by her wet beauty.  
  
Talaria leapt forward, pinning Aragorn to the ground. "You cannot leave, Aragorn, now that we have only met just now! I am in love with you. I will follow you to the ends of Middle Earth, if I must!" she cried. "You must marry me! We will make a team of rangers unlike any other in the world."  
  
As the woman began to rave, Aragorn saw the black fire burning in her eyes, and her face was becoming transformed. A dark figure hid behind the sultry beauty, the untouched innocence of her face, and suddenly it was clear. Aragorn's eyes widened, his breath cut short. He could feel the tentacles of the creature winding around him, pinning him down into submission, taking over his life, besting him at every ranger ability he had damn well earned himself! And all because of the voluptuous curves she was tempting him with. It could not happen!  
  
Screaming, Aragorn shoved the woman off him, and scrambled to his feet. Grasping the handle of his sword, he stared down at the woman who lay on the ground. "You. . ." he gasped. "I have heard myths of creatures such as you, but in all my travels I have never met any. The dread, the horror, the endless pain and agony that comes from being held captive within your arms. Dark, fierce some creatures that can change shape and appearance, come out of nowhere and haunt a man for all his days. You. . .are a--" he could hardly allow himself to spit out the word-- "a. . .Mary Sue!" 


	2. Never Stop in A Forest

A/N: Thank you so much! To Pennhothwen and Ringbearer, I assure you, I have much, much more to incorporate. Thanks for the chocolate bar! And yes, you may call me Wen ( I guess I should thank all those who started it in the first place: after all, if no one wrote Mary Sues, then there would be no target practice. Enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: Still I do not own anything relating to Lord of the Rings.  
Merry fell to the ground, exhausted. The persistent running he had been doing alongside his cousin Pippin, as well as their friends Sam and Frodo, had been excruciating to say the least. Ever since the group had started out from the wholesome hills of the Shire, there had been a lurking cloud along the horizon, one that overshadowed the sun at times. Sam had explained that there was evil rising in Mordor, yet Merry couldn't help but believe there was evil lurking around every twist of the road they were on.  
  
"How much longer till we get there?" asked Pippin, turning his bright eyes to Frodo as he began shuffling the pots and pans out of his pack. "My feet are killin' me, and we haven't had a chance to eat since we left the Brandywine! What are we doin' anyway?"  
  
Sam shot the young hobbit a sharp glance. "Ease up, Pippin. We should only be a another day or so from Bree, and then we'll meet up with Gandalf, right, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
Frodo wearily drank from his water flask, then nodded. "At the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Do you believe anyone will think to look for us there? Gandalf said there are many spies abroad."  
  
Merry shook his head. "As long as we keep on our guard, we should be all right. I haven't seen anything nearly suspicious for awhile now." He paused, casting a glance at Frodo. He noticed that the hobbit had a peculiar haze to his eyes, though it was thoroughly possible it was merely the running they had done since encountering the fearsome Black Riders several days ago. No doubt it had shaken them all up. Thinking back over the past few days it frightened him to think of what sort of evil lay in wait, especially if the Black Riders were only the first in a barrage of obstacles.  
  
Pippin elbowed his cousin. "Merry! What on earth are you thinking about? Dinner's almost ready!"  
  
Regaining his composure, Merry nodded. "Good. I was just thinking about the Black Riders, what would happen if they find the One Ring. I sure hope that Gandalf comes up with a good solution to this mess we've gotten ourselves in. I really don't want to be away from a good mug of ale for any longer than need be."  
  
Chortling, Sam nodded. "Don't worry. I think we're all feeling the same way. Mr. Frodo, are you all right?"  
  
"Yes, Sam, I'm just thinking, looking up at the trees." He sighed deeply, gratefully accepting a place from his friend.  
  
As the four settled in to eat a good hobbit-sized dinner, Frodo perked up. A soft breeze was causing the trees to rustle, yet there was something else that caressed the beautiful hue of the leaves that shone in autumnal brilliance. It was quiet, barely audible at first, something that sounded like voices.  
  
"Did you hear that?" he asked suddenly.  
  
The other three turned their heads, ears perking up as they strained to hear what was riding the wind. Indeed, there were soft voices riding the air, somewhere not too far away. Pippin sat upright, amazed as the voices turned into song, although it was nothing like he had ever heard before.  
  
The hobbits eyed each other, each one transfixed by the melodies that flowed over them. "Perhaps one of us should see what it is," suggested Pippin, his eyes wide and bright.  
  
Merry cast a knowing look at him, smirking slightly. "I will go. If there is any danger, I will signal for you all to leave," he said.  
  
Frodo nodded, his gaze still focused upon wherever the voices were coming from. So beautiful were they, that he forgot completely about the whispering ring inside his coat pocket.  
  
Cautiously creeping forward, Merry parted the bushed to see a group of young women idly sitting in the middle of a glade. Their gentle singing seemed to raise the dying forest, causing a soothing breeze to waft the still blades of brown grass, allowing life to seep back into the earth. There were six in total; lo and behold, as Merry looked closer, there were two hobbit lasses in their midst! The young hobbits were of the palest cream complexion, one with braided hair of gold, the other a deep chestnut. The other young ladies were of marvelous height, obviously some of the Big Folk--in more ways than one, he noted with some excitement. Each woman seemed lost in the song as they worked on building a campfire. Their beauty drew a low gasp from Merry as he stared, unconsciously leaning forward.  
  
"Merry! What is it?" Pippin's voice called from their own campsite.  
  
Slapping his forehead as the women stopped singing abruptly, Merry cast a glare towards his cousin. "My temper, that's what," he muttered.  
  
The six women began peering cautiously around, whispering amongst themselves. At some length, a young woman with eyes the color of emeralds and hair like the evening sky stood up. "Who's out there?" she called.  
  
Merry stood up, sheepishly placing his empty hands outward. "Please do not be alarmed, ladies."  
  
At the hobbit's appearance, one of the women sat up abruptly. She batted her lashes, shyly toying with a stray curl of sandy hair. "Good sir, you startle us. Are there more in your company, or do you walk alone?"  
  
The purring voice wrapped around Merry like a blanket, until he felt himself melting by merely looking at the female. As she motioned for him to come closer, he obediently began to step forward, lost within the endless depths of her eyes. The other women stepped aside to allow him passage. As he knelt before the sandy-haired woman, she whispered, "Call to the others in your group. I am certain they would enjoy a good meal among us."  
  
Blinking wearily as his will faded away, Merry called blandly, "Come on, Pip! Sam, Frodo, it's all right. They are offering us another meal, and it seems quite well."  
  
The crunching of leaves could be heard, and suddenly Pippin burst through the bushes, looking about happily until he saw the group of ladies. He froze, his mouth dropping to the forest floor. A moment later Frodo appeared, curiously staring about. As he focused upon the ladies as well he too became transfixed.  
  
The woman with raven hair smiled. "It is so good of you to come, Frodo Baggins, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck. We will take care of whatever needs you have. I am called Azure Blackstar. The woman with Merry is Ariadne Sunbeam, the redhead is Phoenica Starfire, and our hobbit lasses are Melody Bywater, the golden one, and the brunette is Tara Elibaggins."  
  
Immediately Melody and Tara leapt forward to stand in front of Frodo, eyes large and dreamy as they stared at him. "Frodo!" gasped Melody. "We would never have expected to see you out here. Don't you remember me?"  
  
Frodo frowned slightly, politely taking a step backward. "Um. . .I am afraid I do not, Miss Melody."  
  
"See?" Tara playfully struck the other lass on the shoulder. "I told you he would not! It's been far too long since he last saw us."  
  
"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, a small feeling of dread creeping up his chest.  
  
Melody grasped the hobbit by the arm, pulling him close to her. "We grew up with you, silly! That is, until some dwarves stole us from our homes, sold us to the orcs where we were captives for several years until we managed to escape and now we wander the wild! I can't believe you don't remember us!"  
  
Tara slowly slithered up beside Frodo, making sure his blue eyes caught every turn of her ample bosom. Sliding a hand down his chest, Tara motioned to Melody, and the two led him into the group, where Azure was waiting with a lustful 'come hither' look on her face. Frodo felt his will slip away, though for a moment he wondered if it was only a trick of the Ring, before he found himself thinking of happy thoughts and of how beautiful these lasses were.  
  
Phoenica had taken Pippin to the ground, and was quickly entrancing him with her ample. . .charms. The hobbits were lazily reclining, eyes dulling and smiles easy as the group of women began to become more lusty. Frodo was half buried beneath the three women who had claimed him. A shrill giggle pierced the air.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam called, entering the glade. "I think you've all been foolish e--" He stopped, frozen in his tracks as he saw the horror before him. All his friends, including his beloved Master, were trapped within the black tentacles of the harpies, willingly giving themselves up as each creature demanded more.  
  
"No!" he screamed, brandishing a cooking pan as he dashed in.  
  
The women looked up, their distorted faces quickly fading back into the incredibly beautiful women that had drawn the hobbits in. "Sam!" cooed Ariadne, an arm draped over the gaping Merry. "Please, join us, Sam."  
  
Sam snarled, his muscles tightening. "Back, you she-devils! I see right through you! Mr. Frodo, wake up! Merry, Pippin!"  
  
Cocking her head, Azure looked up, her eyes drowning in green flame. Her face molded into the simplistic, innocent young woman who had been lost in the woods for ages, and now she gazed upon her hero. Suddenly she reminded Sam of Rosie a bit, the way she smiled at him now.  
  
Nearly hitting himself in the head with the pan, Sam shook himself out. "No!" Dashing forward, he began waving the pan, hitting a couple of the women in the head so he could grab his friends. The most difficult to get rid of were the ones surrounding Frodo.  
  
"No!" the lasses shrieked, covering him with their bodies. "We love him! He must stay here!"  
  
"He's going to marry me!" they cried at the same time.  
  
The lasses faced one another, frowns marring their perfect faces. "Wait, Melody," said Tara. "He is going to marry me. He would have it no other way!"  
  
Tara pouted, her full lip sticking out so she tripped on it. "No, Melody, it was decided that Frodo would marry me!"  
  
Melody's eyes narrowed, a snarl twitching at her lips. "Frodo belongs to me. We have been betrothed since birth!"  
  
Sam grabbed hold of Merry, while Pippin, blinking out of his daze, rushed for Frodo. As the two hobbit lasses began to circle one another, Sam said, "Run. We must leave this place!"  
  
Frodo was still bleary-eyed and frazzled, so Merry and Sam had to half carry him. The girls began to shriek in dismay.  
  
"Noooo! They're getting away!" they cried. "Melody, Tara, come on, we've got to catch them!"  
  
As the lasses were groping for each other by the hair, they both looked up to see the backs of the hobbits quickly running into the forest. Azure smacked them both on the backs of the heads. "Fools!" she snapped. "I told you one of you should have had more affection for Sam."  
  
The forest was thicker than they had imagined. Pippin was still shaking off the invisible hands that had held him captive. Merry and Sam were having a difficult time reviving Frodo from whatever type of spell had been woken upon him. Desperation coursed through Sam at the thought of those strange women wandering the wild, happening upon travelers. There was no time for this nonsense!  
  
"Who were those women?" demanded Pippin.  
  
Merry and Sam exchanged glances. "I don't know, Pip," answered Merry darkly. "I've never heard of females who could entrance hobbits just at a glance. One thing's for sure: if they keep on following us, we may not escape."  
  
"Make no mistake," said Sam. "They were after something."  
  
A harsh scream rode the air, freezing the hobbits in their tracks. The earth itself seemed to shudder and recoil from the terrifying sound, ice coursing through blood and stone. Sam recognized the sound as the Black Riders, the ones who had nearly caught them a couple of days ago.  
  
"They're back," whispered Merry. "We've got to keep moving."  
  
As the sound of hoof beats echoed through the trees, Sam gently shook his master. "Mr. Frodo!" he said anxiously. "Please, Mr. Frodo, you've got to come to your senses! The Riders are coming!"  
  
Frodo blinked a couple of times, then slowly exhaled. "I--I'm all right, Sam," he said. "Let's keep moving."  
  
As the hobbits began running, the Dark Riders approached. Five of them circled the forest, each one shrilly screaming to the others. Straight out of Mordor were these creatures, bent and twisted from years beyond reckoning in the Dark Lord's service. Now as they searched for the Ring and its carrier, they stumbled upon a group of women who were running through the forest. There was no feeling of pity or remorse, only the instinctive desire to kill. As the Riders slowly drew swords, they drew closer to the women.  
  
Phoenicia looked up, halting the other girls in their tracks. "Oooh, look!" she cried. "Black Riders!"  
  
The girls all began to whisper and giggle amongst themselves, halting the Riders' attack. "They're so cute!" giggled Melody. "I've never seen anything like that before."  
  
"Hey, can we use your horses?" asked Tara, blinking her large eyes up at the creatures.  
  
The Riders exchanged glances, at a loss as to how to handle the situation. Never had anyone simply walked up to them, and never had anyone dared ask to use their steeds! Even the animals seemed to sense what was horribly wrong, as they began to prance and snort in, what seemed like, fear.  
  
Ariadne threw aside her cloak and reached for a hidden item. As she withdrew a short sword that had written on the blade "Lightning", she said, "Look. Just give us the horses, we need them!"  
  
Melody ran up to one of the horses and touched its leg. The horses reared, screaming senselessly. The Riders echoed the screams, hurriedly sheathing their swords and galloping away at an astonishing speed. Something like sobs could be heard in their screams. 


	3. Legolas: Archer, Prince, Sex Object

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
Golden sunlight struggled to find its way through the thick foliage of the once-called Greenwood the Great, now simply known as Mirkwood. Little could be heard save the occasional breath of a breeze that was strangled by the trees.  
  
Empty air flowed around Legolas as he eyes his quarry. The Elven prince notched an arrow in his bow, sharp grey eyes focused upon the barely moving creature. The overwhelming darkness of the forest was something he was quite accustomed to, though it often moved him to think of how bright it once had been. Now all the dark creatures blended in well, though they were still caught by his well-trained vision. The spider shifted a bit, its giant legs bent and crouched over its victim as it ate at its leisure. The unfortunate deer had not been quick enough to avoid the spider's webbing, and a few soft sounds escaped its throat as the spider feasted.  
  
Legolas drew back, pausing for a moment as he steadied his aim. Inhaling quietly, he released. The spider reared back, screaming in such a tone that it raised the hair on the back of the elf's neck. As the spider hissed, quickly moving forward while its red eyes searched for its assailant, Legolas fired once more. The arrow struck the creature in its monstrous face, and it collapsed upon the body of its prey.  
  
Sighing in satisfaction as a small smile crossed his lips, Legolas ventured forward. Upon reaching the body, he quickly drew one of his knives and cut off the grotesque legs. Bundling them together as a trophy, he turned and began walking back towards the palace, whistling quietly to himself.  
  
Upon re-entering the clearing that faced the mountain of his home, Legolas noted with some pleasure how several of the other elves eyes him with warm smiles and respectful bows. Most knew that while he was a compassionate being, he was also ruthless when needed, and certainly could slay any adversary. As he entered the cave that led down into the palace, he noted that something was amiss. From deep within the caverns he heard a commotion, dining ware being thrown about and many voices were raised.  
  
Running through the well-lit caverns, Legolas came at last to the Grand Hall, whereupon he found a group of elves clustered around several women who were in hysterics.  
  
"What is going on?" he yelled.  
  
Immediately the elves turned and bowed. The women quieted a little, though not enough to cease drawing attention to themselves. Upon closer view, Legolas noted that there were eight women, four she-elves and four mortals, each one dressed rather ornately though somewhat dirtied, and each one was beautiful. Their faces were tear-strained and flushed, very few turning their faces towards the prince.  
  
"Your Highness," greeted one brown-haired elf, bowing low. "You were hunting in the forest again."  
  
Legolas nodded sharply, still staring with some distaste at the commotion in front of him. "Yes, Vanoren. Would you please tell me what is going on? Who are all these women? Where did they come from?"  
  
Vanoren glanced nervously between the prince's stern gaze and the sobbing women. He did not like out of control women any better than the prince did. "Well, you see, my lord, they were in a caravan destined to bring them to Rivendell. As their path brought them through the forest, they were ambushed by goblins."  
  
The prince's gaze flicked across the varying faces. "Where are their escorts? Surely they had guards with them."  
  
"Dead, my lord," Vanoren answered. "The ladies ran through the forest until our guards happened upon them and brought them here."  
  
For a moment Legolas felt a swell of irritation. Firstly that these women would not pull themselves together. Secondly, that whoever had planned this caravan had not seen fit to provide them with suitable protection. With his father in talks with his council all day, the duty of attending to these women fell upon him. Deeply, he admitted, it was not an entirely unpleasant task, especially as seeing how they were all extremely fair to behold--after the tears began to subside, that is.  
  
Handing his parcel and weapons to Vanoren, Legolas stepped forward. "Gentle ladies," he began. Immediately the women quieted, all eyes focused upon him. Offering a polite smile, he continued. "I am Legolas, prince of the city ruled by Thranduil. I welcome you to Mirkwood, though it is terrible you only ventured here on such a perilous journey. Are any of you injured?"  
  
The ladies looked at one another, eyes blinking rapidly. One of the mortals slowly raised a hand. I am, my lord," she said quietly. "I believe my ankle turned while we were running."  
  
Nodding once, Legolas moved towards the woman. He knelt down and began inspecting the injury. The woman smiled shyly, stretching out her leg so her skirt hiked up her leg even more. Legolas swallowed once, his eyes fighting not to stray farther than needed. "Can you walk?" he asked.  
  
The woman met his gaze. Fiery blue eyes stared at him, no longer wet and sobbing. Her pale face was framed by thick golden hair that was pulled back into many braids, the ends lining the low rise of her dress. For a moment Legolas glanced at her heaving chest, drawn to it as any male would be, until he mentally berated himself for such crude thoughts.  
  
"I do not know, my lord," she answered, half a smile rising upon her lips.  
  
"Do not fear, my lady. You will be well taken care of here."  
  
As he began to rise to his feet, one of the other women spoke up. "I am injured also, my lord!"  
  
Legolas turned to the voice, who happened to be a woman with hair black as the forest, a line of silver hair running through the many curls that hung damply around her face. Her. . .violet eyes captured him immediately, drawing him closer to her, and the frantic breathing that made her ample chest tremble. It was certainly not the first time females had thrown themselves at him. He rather enjoyed it. Again the prince felt his eyes studying each curve of her body as he smiled charmingly at her. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.  
  
She leaned forward, shoving her hair away from her chest. Tilting her face forward, which placed her bosom within the prince's line of sight, she answered breathily, "My back is scratched, as is my chest. Do you not see the marks I bare?" She stood up, leaning forward.  
  
Legolas' eyes focused upon her as he swallowed hard, his heart beating quickly in his chest. Very few ladies he had known had ever been this bold, and he had certainly not been so drawn to them before. As his eyes flicked between her face and her flesh, he asked through a deep breath, "What is your name, my lady?"  
  
She smiled, edging closer to the elf. "I am Aphrodite Silverstar."  
  
Immediately one of the she-elfs jumped to her feet. "My lord!" she cried, swaying to and fro. "I fear I should faint!"  
  
As she began to teeter, Legolas sprang forward, easily catching her in his arms as she collapsed. Small grumblings could be heard from the other women. The she-elf smiled gratefully, turning her blue and silver tinged eyes to stare at the prince. She carefully tucked a strand of dark hair behind her pointed ear.  
  
"Are you all right, my lady?" Legolas asked in concern, slowly bringing her to her feet.  
  
The she-elf gave him a dramatic eye-batting before saying, "I--I believe so. I am Luwendolin Windfire."  
  
Legolas felt himself falling into her eyes. The way her slender body curved in his arms made him draw her closer until she placed soft hands upon his shoulders. His breath caught, sending a rush of tingles down his spine. He could feel her breath on his face as she delicately touched his face.  
  
"You are indeed handsome, Prince Legolas," she cooed. "Such a tight embrace you have! Do you hunt often?"  
  
As he opened his mouth to speak, one of the other she-elves fell to the floor near his feet with a pained cry. Legolas quickly looked to her. "My lady?" he asked quizzically.  
  
The elf clutched her side, looking up at him desperately with green eyes framed by a wave of hair the color of fire. "My lord," she said weakly. "Please help me!"  
  
He started to release Luwendolin, but she clamped her fingers tightly around his tunic. Blinking rapidly, he said, "Lady Luwendolin, I must help your friend."  
  
Luwendolin shrugged her hair away, revealing a heavy necklace of silver and sapphires. Legolas blinked at the pure beauty of it. "No," she whispered. "This necklace is magical. Good prince, I have you in my arms, and I yearn only for one sweet kiss from your lips."  
  
Surprise and confusion pulled at his mind, as well as repulsion, but attraction and arousal quickly clouded those feelings, especially as she pulled herself even closer to him, until their noses met. He desired her greatly, and he felt unable to resist her charms.  
  
"I am meant for you, Prince Legolas," she whispered, brushing tender lips against his.  
  
A frustrated scream tore the air. The she-elf on the floor suddenly rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. "Do not ignore me, Prince Legolas, for I am noble of birth. I am Princess Parodia, daughter of King Excaliban. My father is a powerful king and wizard, and my mother is a descendant of Luthien Tinuviel! Do you not see how beautiful I am? I have been bred since birth to be a lady, but my only desire is to wander the lands, righting wrongs and serving justice for free peoples! Come with me, Prince. Let us string our bows and fight evil!" From out of nowhere, it seemed, she pulled a longbow studded with, what looked like, dragon scale. It glowed in the light. As she produced a quiver of mithril arrows, the other women began to scream wantonly.  
  
They clamored forward, pawing at Legolas, reaching out to him, staring at him with eyes as large and wide as anime characters. As he stumbled, still in the tight embrace of Luwendolin, Legolas felt panic rising through his clouded mind. Dark tendrils clawed at every part of his body, desperately seeking some way to claim him. There were cries of a woman with pure blood from the Valar, some saying they had run away from abusive parents or arranged marriages, others of queenly birth or unparalleled ranger abilities. The estrogen level was suffocating, toxic, and they were all pulling him down.  
  
The other elves, frozen in amazement and horror until now, began to shout. "My lord! You must move! These are no pure women."  
  
Legolas looked about wildly as hands began grabbing him in places not to be mentioned. "What is this?" he cried.  
  
One of the elves shouted, "These are demons, Prince Legolas! If you do not run, they will consume you, do terrible things to you--like compare hair products, demand that you take them to your bedchamber, strive for a child with you, or even--" he paused, unable to squeeze the words out-- "best you at archery!"  
  
There was a collective gasp from the Mirkwood elves.  
  
"Please, you must fight!"  
  
The elf prince suddenly saw the beautiful faces shifting, becoming wild, drooling, crazed creatures. Absurd professions of love filled his ears, and he screamed as one of the women spoke of the horrible things she would do to his elfhood.  
  
He struggled to grasp for his weapons, only to remember he had handed them away earlier. Gathering his strength, he pulled free of the masses, leaping to the other side of the room. Tousled, disarrayed, his clothes half-torn---there was a shriek of "I have his shirt!"--Legolas began to breathe frantically. "Demons," he gasped. "These creatures are of foul craft, bewitching in their appearance, yet there lies only death in their touch, or the fearful fate of being locked forever in their embrace!"  
  
Vanoren grabbed a spear, as did the other elves, standing between the prince and the mouth-foaming women. "Run, my lord! We will hold them until the guards come. You must leave! They are coming!"  
  
Somewhat dazed, Legolas ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Behind him he heard the wails and rants of the creatures, soon followed by several knock-down fistfights, and harried cries from Vanoren. Never before had Legolas run from an enemy. Never had he turned his back on a challenge. Now, however, he realized for the first time in his very long life that he was completely helpless. No skill he possessed could serve him in warding off those beasts, those demons, those things that could only be called Mary Sues. 


	4. A Father's Work is Never Done

Disclaimer: I still don't own them!  
  
A long silence filled the city of Minas Tirith as the moon slowly rose over the distant mountains. Glittering torches sparkled like fireflies throughout the darkness, granting light to those few who wandered through the streets. Long had the city been besieged by doubt and darkness, a sure repercussion of such a close distance to Mordor. Any being that looked to the east could see the faint glow of flames rising from the dreaded land, warning of what was to come. Fearful times had befallen the world of Men.  
  
Boromir paced restlessly outside his father's door. Son of the Steward of Gondor, the man was well built and well trained in the arts of war. He glanced out over the city, as he often did, straining to see what danger lurked outside its borders. Word had been received from the latest scouts that orcs were roaming far too close to the city, and that they would strike soon. He knew they would have to venture out soon in order to counter the creatures, lest they be taken off guard.  
  
Sighing deeply as the door opened, Boromir stood straight as one of the servants stepped forward. Bowing his head, the servant said, "Sir, your father wishes to see you now."  
  
Nodding once in reply, Boromir strode through the tall wooden entrance. The stone room was well made, smoothed and decorated in ancient tapestries from years long past. In the center of the room was the Steward's tall seat, where Denethor now sat, his head resting against his palm. Candles lit the room, casting dark shadows into the corners of the room. Boromir knew what stress his father endured, for it was a difficult task to care for the city. Long had their people been without a king, and he knew that they did not need one. Denethor was wise and stern in his task, caring for his people as best he could.  
  
Raising his eyes as his son approached, Denethor offered a small nod. "Boromir. I assume you have heard of the orcs that are lingering around the city."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Slowly standing, Denethor motioned for his advisor to step forward. "We are in perilous times, my son. I fear that all will come to ruin if we do not act quickly. Sauron lingers in the dark land like a snake, biding his time until we are at our weakest and he may dominate us. He sends his minions out to destroy us as they may, hoping to take us off guard. To this point we have been able to hold them at bay, but their numbers are growing."  
  
Boromir nodded, glancing at the advisor as he laid out a map upon the long table. "Our men are strong, My Lord. We will hold them back, I assure you."  
  
The older man's eyes lingered upon the stalwart man who was anxious for battle. For many moments he remained silent, thinking upon all his son had accomplished to date, how brave he was not only for him, but also for all of Gondor. At last Denethor said, "My son, my heart is filled with trepidation as to our future. I do not know how long we may last, nor if any shall survive. It fills me with dread to think upon our demise, or that our line will fall after so long."  
  
"We will not fail, My Lord, I assure you that I will do all that is necessary to protect all our people,"  
  
Boromir said urgently. "Sauron's forces may be many, but they will not destroy us. Is this what preys upon your mind?"  
  
"It is not only that, my son," Denethor sighed. "I also fear that you shall never marry and bare children. I am old, Boromir. Though my strength has not left me yet, I am not capable of maintaining this position forever. When I leave this world, I desire to know that my sons will succeed me, that they will complete what I have not done. I have long expected you to take a wife, my son."  
  
Boromir shifted slightly, glancing around the room. This was not the first time he had had this conversation with his father before. He was well aware of how overburdened his father felt and how he looked to his sons to make things right.  
  
"Father, I have given my life to protecting our people. There are many here who fear to live their lives when we are so close to direct conflict with Mordor," Boromir said, pacing once again. "Besides, I have not yet met a maiden who I would hold close to my heart. Is it fair to marry only to leave the woman behind when I must go to battle?"  
  
"There are other things more important than what happens to the woman you leave behind, my son. You must continue our line! I am well aware of many fair maidens who would gladly bare your children, even if you were to leave them to fulfill your duty. It is no small thing to take a woman to your bed. You are my son; you carry more duties than you realize."  
  
Gritting his teeth as he struggled not to speak against his father, Boromir shrugged his shoulders back to relieve some of the mounting tension. "Are you asking me to find a wife, father?"  
  
Denethor stepped forward, placing his hands upon his son's shoulders. "It would please me to know my son is pleasing himself as well. I shall be sending you away soon, and it would be comforting to know that you have set yourself to marry."  
  
Bowing his head, Boromir asked, "And what of Faramir? Will you not ask this of him as well?"  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Denethor said, "Faramir still has much to prove. His time will come when he will be asked to find a wife as well. For now, Boromir, I expect much from you. Will you not grant me my wish?"  
  
His stomach was knotting in discomfort. True that there were many desirable women in the kingdom, but he had never thought of making a wife of one of them. Many women held his affections. Still, if his father was set upon having an heir after his own sons, then Boromir was left with little choice.  
  
"I will do what I can, father, to urge my heart to take such action as you ask," he answered.  
  
Denethor nodded firmly, a small smile edging the corners of his mouth. "Good. Soon you will make for Rivendell, my son, to represent our people at a council held by Lord Elrond. In the meantime, I suggest you make haste to find a suitable wife. Even though your journey will be long, whomsoever you choose will remain here for you."  
  
Bidding his father good night, Boromir quickly left the hall and journeyed out into the streets. Frustration gripped his mind like a plague. How his father could demand so much of him was almost more than he could bear! Walking quickly down through the city, Boromir allowed the breeze to wrap itself around him like a blanket, seeking to comfort him. His mind wandered over the many women he had spoken with, the ones he had laid with. Could any of them be suitable for his wife?  
  
After a time of wandering, Boromir returned to his chambers, quickly shedding himself of his armor and weapons. A warm fire blazed upon the hearth, casting a glow upon the man's bare chest and face. He reached for a glass of wine and drank deeply, not noticing his door opening and shutting softly.  
  
As he sat down to take off his boots, he glanced up sharply. Before him stood a woman in dark blue robes, a veil covering her face. She stood silently, hands folded neatly in front of her.  
  
"Who are you?" Boromir demanded. "Is it not customary to knock before entering a room?"  
  
The woman kept her eyes downcast. "I am sorry, my Lord," she said softly. "I came only upon request of the Steward. He asked that I let myself in and introduce myself to you."  
  
Standing up abruptly, Boromir snorted in anger. "My father," he repeated. "He is bound and determined to saddle me with some woman so that I may yet have heirs!"  
  
He focused upon the woman standing in front of him, wondering why his father would be so bold in sending a woman to his chambers. She was small of build and height, demure yet there was also a kind of sense about her that told him she was bold and daring, if given such chance. The gray veil only masked the chestnut tresses that flowed around her shoulders, trailing along her back. She was pale in color, and the blue robes only sought to bring out her eyes that, he noticed as she glanced up quickly, were the same color. A warm heat washed over him as he stared at her.  
  
As he stepped closer, the woman slowly raised her veil. Boromir gasped in spite of himself. She was dazzling. Her eyes seemed made of sapphires, and her lips were warm and red. There was a fleck of gold in her hair that seemed like beams of the sun, glowing in the torchlight. His eyes trailed down to the suddenly low neckline of her robes, and how her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. As he stared at her, she began to unfasten the bindings of her robes.  
  
"Look at me well, son of Gondor," she said softly, dropping her garment to the floor, and leaving her in a tightly cinched bodice and skirt. "Your father wishes for us to be as one. If I must lie for the son of the Steward of Gondor, then that I shall do."  
  
Boromir blinked rapidly, struggling to come out of the sudden lust that swept over him. "I know nothing of you, my lady. I find it most inappropriate to take advantage of one that my father has sent to me."  
  
She stepped forward, tossing her hair over her shoulders to reveal a deep scar along her neck. "Do you see this, my lord? My uncle has long held me hostage. He has beaten me and left me to die on many occasions. I seek only to improve my station in life. Let me satisfy your desires and I shall make you love me yet, Boromir."  
  
As she touched his bearded cheek, Boromir felt his eyes close. The closer she came, the more he felt his will to do what was right slipping away. As she pressed her nearly naked bosom against his skin, he gasped, overwhelmed by the feelings that were taking hold of him.  
  
"I am called Alice Sunnydale," she said, leading him towards the bed. "Love me, Boromir of Gondor."  
  
He stared down at her, entranced by her beauty. Suddenly he remembered how he loathed his father for setting this up, and he moved out of her arms, shakily gasping for breath. "My lady, I cannot," he gasped.  
  
Alice stared at him. "But, Boromir," she simpered, "you are all that matters to me right now! Surely you cannot pass up someone of my immeasurable beauty! I am descended from the royalty of long ago, I assure you. Surely our bloods would make a fine child!"  
  
Boromir looked at her strangely, slowly standing straight again. "Lady Alice," he said slowly. "I have no want to defile you in any way, for this is not how love should be made. I will not take you only for a child."  
  
"Oh, but it would not only be for a child," she purred, gliding towards him once more. "You would make me your wife as well. And when your father is gone, we should rule Gondor together. Of course, I do believe that I would rule better, for surely you would be out slaying orcs and what not."  
  
"Are you mad?" he asked, frowning at her. "You come into my room, desiring me to take you, then you speak of you ruling Gondor while I am an absent Steward? What is your real purpose here, my lady? Did you think I would succumb so easily?"  
  
A new voice entered the room from the balcony. "Then perhaps you would choose me." The new woman was tall, with hair the color of the sun and eyes that glimmered like the moon. She wore tight armor that surely did not serve any purpose but to enhance every curve of her voluptuous body. "It is I you should choose in the matter, Boromir. I have loved you from afar for many years, and now it is time for you to take me as your own. I am a daughter of Rohan, yet I seek you, Boromir of Gondor."  
  
Confusion filled his mind as Boromir stared between the two women. Alice stared venomously at the intruder, her bright eyes clouding in anger. "Get out, woman! I was here first," she snarled.  
  
The woman sniffed. "I am Eowind Stormcrow, daughter of Gandalf the Grey, and I am meant for Boromir. Not you, you pathetic little being." She stepped forward and approached Boromir, who stepped backwards hurriedly. Brandishing an obscenely large sword that was marked 'Obscenely Large Sword of Might', Eowind held off the smaller woman. She grabbed Boromir tightly. "Look deeply into my eyes, my love, and you will see all you need therein."  
  
Boromir stared helplessly into the silver pools of her eyes, suddenly drawn into her web. Immediately he felt his will to run dissipate, and he allowed the woman to pull him down to rest his head upon her breast.  
  
Alice shrieked. "No! He is mine, and I shall have him! You bitch! You'll get him killed!"  
  
Eyes blazing, Eowind raised an eyebrow as she kissed the man. Boromir was lost within the dark depths of her lips, drowning slowly and unaware.  
  
Alice charged forward, knocking the man the ground so he bumped his head. The two women began to struggle, slapping one another and shrieking like banshees.  
  
As Boromir regained his senses, he looked up to see two dark shadows on the walls. Their winged forms and dark claws splayed perilously close to him, and long tentacles drifted along the floor towards him. Boromir cried aloud, staring in bewilderment as the feminine forms writhed and morphed into hideous creatures. Their cries pierced his heart, sending terror along his spine.  
  
"By Eru," he gasped. "Demons! No such creatures should exist in Middle Earth! Foul craft has spawned you, and I shall not be privy to your plot! You would have me locked in a chamber so you would rule Gondor and come to me only to indulge your own needs. Get out!"  
  
The two creatures turned their burning faces towards the man, slow smirks making their way across the black and bleeding faces. "No, Boromir," cooed 'Alice,' "We desire only you. Come, and be with us. We shall both take care of you."  
  
'Eowind' smiled, stretching out a long tentacle to wrap itself around his ankle. "Yes, Boromir. No fear of arranged marriage should keep us apart. However we take you, you will enjoy it."  
  
Crying out in horror, Boromir ran from the room. 


End file.
